


Sense of Home

by StardustAndTeacups



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Smut, The whole shabang, They're in this together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 14:07:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15341475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StardustAndTeacups/pseuds/StardustAndTeacups
Summary: Set in that sweet, but brief, period of peace between seasons 2 and 3.Neither Abby nor Marcus are doing great after the events of Mt. Weather, but Abby especially is weighed down by her daughter's disappearance. Therefore Marcus makes it his personal goal to support her, and help her as much as he can - whatever that may require - and in his endeavours to help her, he comes to realise that she is helping him just as much.





	Sense of Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blizzaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blizzaurus/gifts).



> Written as a birthday present for the sweetest person out there! Emilia, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it (and also teasing you with vague af hints ;))
> 
> I love you xx

Through most of his life, Marcus Kane had known exactly what his purpose was: Ensure the survival of the human race. But lately, that purpose had changed shape – humanity was no longer just the people on the Ark, but thousands of Grounders as well. The circumstances for their survival had changed too – they were no longer the last hope of humanity trapped in orbit around the planet that had been the home of their forefathers. They were here, on Earth, and they were not alone.

The first month on the Ground had been anything but easy: Half of the kids had been missing, the other half desperate to get their friends back, the first encounter with the Grounders hadn’t exactly been friendly either, and then there were the Mountain Men… he preferred not to linger too much on what had happened at the mountain.

Over the course of that first month, everything Marcus Kane had ever known had been completely turned on its head. What he had been told his whole life, the one thing that he had known for certain – that the Ark was all that was left of humanity – had turned out not to be true, and it had sent him fumbling in the dark for something, _anything,_ to hold onto, to anchor himself to, the same way his whole perception of the world had been anchored to that one fact.

It should have been impossible to find something like that, to find a constant in the chaos, and if he were honest, he hadn’t found it; she had found him. She had been there beside him through all of it, and even when she wasn’t there in person – when he had spent days on the bottom of a cell surrounded by people of a foreign culture – she had somehow made a home for herself in his thoughts.

Looking back, he supposes it made sense – how things had developed, what he had come to feel for her – but in the moment there had been no time to dwell on such feelings. They had been moving from one problem to the next without a single moment to _breathe_ , without a moment to even begin to unravel the changes in themselves, and it wasn’t until he had been faced with the prospect of losing her that he had truly realised the magnitude of his feelings towards her. It wasn’t until Mount Weather, and the horrible sound of a drill piercing skin and hitting bone that he had realised he loved her. And ever since the mountain had been defeated, that thought had been the only thing on his mind.

_He was in love with Abby Griffin._

That one, world-changing realisation had changed everything, it was like something crucial had clicked into place and suddenly the world seemed more _right_ than it ever had. He was in love with Abby Griffin and in all likelihood that love was unrequited. _As it should be_ , whispered the self-deprecating voice inside his mind, cursing himself for clinging to that tiny sliver of hope he tried so hard to conjure up. He could never be deserving of her love after everything he had done, to her and to so many others. To be quite frank, it was half a miracle that she thought of him with something other than disgust. But she did, somehow – though he hadn't the faintest idea why – she had come to see him as an ally, a friend even, and that was enough. If he could spend the rest of his days supporting her, being her friend, he would die a happy man and god knows she needed that support right now.

 

* * *

 

Abby had fallen asleep not long after they had returned to Camp Jaha. Even though she had been fighting to stay awake, asking about Raven and wanting to see her daughter, the medication Jackson had given her had knocked her right out in her exhausted state. Marcus, equally exhausted from the long walk back from the mountain with his leg still in the process of healing, hadn’t strayed from her side for even a moment – much to Jackson’s dismay – but as soon as Abby was treated and sound asleep in a bed in Medical he too had dozed off in a chair beside her cot. _Just for a few short moments,_ he tells himself, _and then I will go get Clarke_ , but as soon as his eyes fall closed he drifts off.

“Abby.”

A voice pierces the fog of sleep which is clouding Marcus’ mind and he wakes to see Bellamy walking determinedly towards Abby who suddenly seems very awake at the young man’s cautionary tone of voice.

“Where’s Clarke?” She asks, immediately aware that her daughter is not with Bellamy as she usually is. Marcus edges towards her to put a reassuring hand on her arm when she begins to make a move to get off the cot.

“Bellamy?” He questions when Abby isn’t given an answer. There’s something in his expression that tells Marcus that whatever he has come to tell them, it’s not good news.

“Bellamy?!” Abby is growing further anxious.

“She left.”

“What do you mean she left? Who left?” Marcus inquires when Abby remains silent.

“Clarke, she just left,” he says with stunted bewilderment. “She didn’t tell me where,” he continues before either of them can ask, “She just walked off into the forest.”

“We have to go after her.” Once again Abby tries to get up, groaning when her legs refuse to cooperate and sends spikes of pain through her body.

“I don’t,” Bellamy starts, “I don’t think we should.”

Abby ignores his statement.

“How long ago did she leave? Did she tell you _anything_ about where she might be going? Which direction did she go in?” She spits out questions, but the young man remains silent. “Marcus?” She turns to him, “We should assemble a team to go after her. The sooner we leave the better.”

“You’re not going anywhere, Abby, you can barely walk,” he chides her glancing down to where her hand is gripping his arm for support. She retracts her hand and sits a little straighter but surprisingly she doesn’t argue further.

“Why don’t you think we should go after her?” Marcus asks returning his attention to Bellamy.

“She needs time, to process, to forgive herself.” A shadow falls over his face, briefly and then it’s gone, “I don’t think we should go after her right now.”

“You just expect me to sit by and wait for her to return? I just got her back.”

“If she needs time, we give her time,” Marcus interrupts earning a betrayed look from Abby. “We give her time,” he repeats, “And then we go after her. Maybe she’ll even return on her own before then, and if not, well, we can give her a couple of days, she won’t make it too far on foot. We will find your daughter again, Abby.” He covers her hands with one of his own in a gesture of comfort.

She looks at him, then Bellamy who gives a slight nod of approval. “Okay,” she concedes reluctantly, “But I want to be on the search team.”

An amused sigh escapes him. _Of course she wants to be on the search team when she can barely take a single step on her own._ “Abby, you’re injured, you will only slow them down. And,” he continues when she begins to object, “you’re the Chancellor, we need you here.”

She sends him an indignant glare. “She’s my daughter, Marcus. I’m going after her.”

“Alright,” he says, taking her by surprise, “If she isn’t back when your legs have healed we’ll go after her, together. But not a second before Jackson clears you.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but he sends her a look that tells her the discussion is over; if she wants to go after Clarke herself, she’ll have to wait until she’s actually physically able to make the journey, and deep down she knows he’s right.

She nods in acceptance, and so the waiting begins.

 

* * *

 

The first few days Abby is completely confined to her cot in Medical and Marcus takes it upon himself to shoulder most of the responsibility of rebuilding their camp. It’s hard for her not to be involved and the few times he manages to catch her while she’s awake (she sleeps most of the time and while it’s obvious that she hates how exhausted she is, Marcus and Jackson both agree that a sleeping Abby is easier to take care of than if she were awake and restless as she undoubtfully would be) her energy is spent asking if Clarke has returned, if they’ve heard anything from her at all – they haven’t.

Once she’s cleared from Medical and returned to her own quarters it gets even harder for Marcus to make sure she gets the rest she needs to heal. She still has trouble moving about and so they reach a compromise: He brings her the full reports of the progress that’s being made around the camp as well as the long, but thankfully slowly shrinking, lists of problems that need to be fixed and in return, she stays in her quarters. (It’s not really a compromise seeing as she was already to be confined to her quarters, but this allows her to work and Marcus can see how she’s desperately searching for something to do, something to make her feel useful when she can’t be out looking for her daughter.)

By the end of her very first day out of Medical, her quarters have basically been turned into a joint workspace for her and Marcus.

From there on out, they spend most of their days together. Marcus comes and goes during the day, but after he’s brought her dinner they spend the rest of the evening going over development plans or supply lists or, if a search party has returned once again with no sign of Clarke, they cross yet another sector off the map they’ve been piecing together. On nights like those they don’t usually get much actual work done, both of their minds too preoccupied with worries.

The more time that passes the further between those nights are; no one has seen or heard anything from Clarke in over a month now, and the search team’s missions take them further and further away from Arkadia – the new name felt more fitting following Thelonious’ betrayal. And though Abby might be healing physically, it’s clear to him that her daughter’s absence is wearing her down bit by bit.

They’re sitting together at a table in her quarters, heads close together as they go over Sinclair’s reports on the upgrade he’s working on for their electrical grid when there’s a knock on the door. Marcus instinctively looks up – he knows exactly who it is – but Abby’s gaze remains focused as ever on the papers in front of her. She knows too, but she also knows what the knock means: _If they’d found her they wouldn’t knock._ His heart is heavy as he rises to open the door to receive the usual report from the recently returned search team.

“I want to go after her,” she states as he thanks the guard and closes the door. He’d known this moment would come, and since he had already promised her that they would do so, together, there’s really no use in arguing.

And so, three days later, they leave with a small team of guards – for protection mainly, the truce between Skaikru and the Grounders is still a fragile thing – and the rover, beginning their journey to a trading post on the southern boarder between Trikru and Yujleda.

 

* * *

 

It’s a long drive. Most of the trip Abby spends on the passenger seat with her eyes resolutely trained on the forest, it isn’t until the sun dips below the treetops, shrouding the world in darkness and making it impossible for her to see anything, that she begins to grow restless.

Her fingers toy with the drawing of Clarke she holds in her hand. He catches the anxious movement out of the corner of his eye and instinctively reaches for her hand.

“We will find her,” he reassures her, “Maybe not tonight, but we will.”

She glances at him and for a moment he’s afraid he’s overstepped with his touch, but her fidgeting stills and her fingers curl around his. They drive the rest of the way in silence.

They arrive at the trading post hours after the sun has set. The first thing to catch Marcus’ eye is the water, or rather, the _sea,_ and how the moonlight is reflected in the surface as waves roll onto the beach filling the air with a magical, calming melody of nature. The air is different too; heavy with the smell of salt and sea while at the same time feeling fresh and clean. He likes the sea, Marcus decides.

His head turns in search for Abby who he finds walking towards him, a barely-there smile on her lips. It sends a jab of pain through his heart – it’s as if she forgot how to smile the moment she was told that her daughter had chosen to leave.

“It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” he can’t help but ask her when she joins him.

“It is,” she agrees but there’s something in her voice that tells him that she hasn’t quite taken the same moment of appreciation as he has just allowed himself. “They don’t speak English,” she starts, throwing him off for a moment until he looks in the same direction as her and sees two Grounders looking warily at them from the entrance of the trading post. “Would you mind translating?”

“That’s why I’m here,” he reminds her, and she simply nods even though they both know that if that were the only reason, Octavia would’ve been far more helpful than he will be.

He manages to explain why they’ve come, though his grasp of the Grounder language is far from perfect. He signals for Abby to show them the drawing.

“Have you seen this girl? Have you seen Clarke?” she asks. They just stare at her with blank, uncomprehending faces.

“ _Osir gaf Klark kom Skaikru in,_ ” he explains, gently taking the drawing from Abby and giving it to the man and woman in front of them. Both he and Abby wait with bated breath as they regard the drawing. After a long while they look up, their facial expressions sceptical.

“ _Osir don ai em op._ ”

And with that sentence, Marcus’ heart stops beating for just a second. He blinks, surprised, at them not knowing whether to laugh or give them both a hug, meanwhile beside him is Abby, nervously shaking his arm.

“What did they say? Have they seen her?”

Her words break his brief moment of astonishment and he turns to her with a smile plastered across his face. “Yes!” he says, amazed. “Yes, they have.”  And for the first time in so long, he sees Abby Griffin smile again.

It’s astonishing, really. The way the weight she’s been carrying since Clarke’s disappearance visibly lifts from her shoulders, and in a moment of weakness, he’s sure, she lets her head fall to rest on his chest. She quickly leans back, however, with a question in her eyes.

“When? Do they know where she is?”

And thus, Marcus returns his attention to the couple trying his best to ask the right questions and understand the answers they give. Sadly, those answers are not as helpful as they could’ve been. They saw her a four days ago – or maybe five, they don’t really remember –when she came to their post dragging a dead stag with her. She’d offered them most of the animal if they agreed to skin and cure it for her. They’d done so and as soon as she’d picked up her share of the meat, she’d left never to be seen again. _Five days_ , he thinks, _five days is too long ago_. Even if she had left a trail it would be long gone by now.

Abby must have sensed the change in his mood because when their eyes meet again, her smile has faded slightly.

“She was here.” He pauses, preparing himself to disappoint her once more – _as if she hadn’t been through enough disappointment already_. “She was here four days ago.”

Abby’s jaw slackens and a clear veil of defeat washes over her features.

“Oh.”

“Abby, I’m sorry- ”

“It’s not your fault.” She takes a deep breath. “We knew it was a long shot. I don’t know why I…” Her voice fades and they’re left in silence until she excuses herself and walks past the rover where their three accompanying guards are standing by and out onto the beach.

He hates seeing her like this, hates that he can’t fix this, or make it just the slightest bit better, but he can’t. There’s nothing he can do.

Or maybe there’s something he can do, something he can always do. He can do what he has been doing for the past couple of months: take care of her and support her. So he decides that, for her sake, to ask if they have a room that she can borrow. They were going to have to stay the night here anyway, so the least he could do is ensure that she would be able to get some decent sleep.

To his luck, they do. A spare bedroom that they, with only a hint of reluctance, grant him use of for the night. He thanks them deeply before going after Abby.

Persuading her to take the bed while he and the guards sleep outside in their tents is not exactly an easy task but arguing with Abby Griffin is a skill he has been perfecting for many years now, and _someone_ should take the bed, no reason why it couldn’t be her.

“We know she’s out there, now. That’s progress.” He can’t help but talk as they walk back, motived by the need to comfort her.

“You’re right. I don’t know what I had expected… That she’d just magically appear because her mother came looking for her? Highly unlikely.” There’s a wistfulness in her voice but he senses her begin to build herself up from the disappointment when she continues: “But you’re right, knowing that she was here a couple of days ago is _something._ More than we’ve had in weeks.”

“Maybe she’s just not ready to be found yet,” he suggests, and she smiles softly at that.

“Maybe not.”

He follows her to the room, not exactly sure why – maybe out of habit, maybe out of a desire to make sure everything is alright and safe before he leaves her alone for the night – but he does. When they enter the room it quickly becomes apparent that everything is definitely alright. A fire has been lit in the fire place, making the room feel warm and welcoming. There isn’t much in the way of furniture, in fact, only a raggedy wooden chair and a bed, but what a bed that is; sturdy wooden frames carrying a big mattress, which is hard to see as it is covered by heaps and heaps of fur. Marcus, who has only ever slept on the threadbare cots of the Ark or on the ground, shivers slightly at the sight.

“There’s room enough for two in that bed.” She states, her voice breaking through his marvel and sending him into a brief state of confusion. _She can’t possibly mean…_ “Oh come on Marcus, we could even fit one of the guards in there with us if we really wanted to,” she jests when he doesn’t answer.

“Are you sure?”

“About sharing the bed with you, or about asking Roussos, Swanson or Martins to join us?”

He hesitates for a moment, trying to see through the guise of sarcasm she has suddenly put on, but he finds no waver of doubt in her eyes. “Okay. I don’t expect the team outside will be needing me for protection anyway.” His playful response earns him a smile, and he supposes that this was a good decision after all…

 

* * *

 

… _or maybe not_ , he thinks the moment they are settled beneath the furs.

They are both still wearing their clothes – shoes, socks and jackets being the only things that were discarded – and even though Abby is lying with her back facing him, he is still overly aware of her presence so close to him. He’s lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling and trying his best to keep his thoughts from returning to her, but it’s damn hard when all he can hear is the steady rhythm of her breathing as she falls asleep.

He’s not sure how long he’s been lying there – long enough to count the boards in the ceiling – but he is finally beginning to sense himself doze off, that is until he feels a warm weight curl up against his side. An unwelcome sensation sparks in his body, a thrill that goes straight to the one part of him that should most definitely be asleep right now. He chides himself for being so foolishly inclined and nearly holds his breath as he waits for that feeling to dissipate. He tries to free his arm, so he can move her back over to her side of the bed, but no such luck. He resigns himself to this fate – being trapped in Abby Griffin’s embrace – but as he begins to relax into her touch and slowly drifts off to sleep as well, he does so with a faint smile on his lips.

The next few hours are the best sleep Marcus has had in about as long as he can remember. How he wakes? Well, that’s another story entirely. In fact, he’s woken by a forceful jab to his ribcage, something that surprises him immensely.

He shoots up from the bed, for a moment completely and utterly disoriented and confused; _Where is he? Who’s in his bed? And what on Earth just jabbed him in the ribs?!_ Memories of the evening before begin to return as small whimpers and groans start sounding from the body beside him – _Abby_ , he realises. She must be having a nightmare.

For a moment he isn’t sure what to do – or what he even dares to do, feeling the ache in his side – but he can’t just leave her like that, gasping, her brows knitted together in worry, or is it pain? He reaches out for her, _carefully_ , and shakes her shoulder gently until she wakes with wide, fearful eyes.

“Abby, _Abby_ , it’s okay. Hey, it’s just a nightmare.”

“Marcus,” she gasps looking at him, dazed, anxious and… relieved?

After a few heaving breaths for air, she seems to return to her senses, but as she does he notices her eyes fill with silent tears.

“Abby, what’s- ” but she storms out of the room before he gets any chance to finish his sentence. For a brief moment he ponders whether or not to go after her, but he can’t bear the thought of her being upset and alone while he sits passively by, doing nothing. So he follows her outside.

He finds her sitting on the beach, arms wrapped around her knees and staring out across the sea. The moon hangs low in the dark-blue sky, its pale beams of light reflecting in the steady ebb and flow of the waves. Almost as a reflex, Marcus takes a deep breath as he takes in the peaceful scenery before returning his attention to the reason he came out here in the first place.

“Abby.” Her name falls from his lips mostly out of habit as he moves closer to her, but when she doesn’t react he hesitates. Maybe she would rather be left alone? He hovers awkwardly behind her for a moment not exactly sure what to do or say. He wants to help any way he can, if that means leaving her alone he will do that, but even though she hasn’t exactly _asked_ for his presence, she also hasn’t told him to leave. Slowly, he settles beside her, at a respectable distance, of course, but still close enough that he can feel the faint flutter of her body heat against his bare arm.

“Clarke is going to be fine, you know, she’s strong. She can take care of herself, clearly,” he tries.

A long moment passes, and he begins to wonder if he should even expect a reply. She doesn’t move, doesn’t look at him or acknowledge his presence in any other way. She just stares at the ocean.

“I know.” Her voice is low and raspy, so low he nearly begins to question if he made her words up himself. He continues:

“And, even if we don’t find her this time around either, I’m sure she’ll come back once she’s ready.”

Another pause, but shorter this time, then: “I know.” She says no more and neither does he, instead they let the sound of the gentle waves soothe them into a comfortable silence.

 

* * *

 

Marcus isn’t exactly sure how long they’ve been just sitting there watching the moonlight play across the ocean, but it’s been long enough for him to slightly startle when she suddenly speaks.

“They’re not about Clarke.” He turns his head towards her, confused. The statement is spoken out of context and doesn’t immediately make sense to him. “My nightmares,” she clarifies, “They’re uh- they’re not about Clarke.”

“Oh,” he breathes dumbly. He’s not quite sure where she’s going with this, what she’s expecting him to say. He knew it was wrong of him to just assume, but her daughter’s disappearance had seemed like the most obvious reason considering when the nightmares had begun. Or at least when he thought they had begun, he hadn’t noticed her sleeping uneasily before, at least not-

“It’s you, Marcus.” Her words stop his thoughts before they derail further.

“Abby I- ” he starts but falters, lost for words. How does he even _begin_ to apologise for all the things he has done to her and so many others, for the pain that he is _still_ clearly causing her? “I’m- ” But once again she cuts him off and flips all of his assumptions on the head.

“It’s you on the table instead of me _._ ” Her voice quivers, it’s so _small,_ and something inside him breaks when she turns to find his gaze. “ _Every night._ It’s always the same. It's _you_ they're drilling into and I can't get to you. I hear your screams, I can _feel_ the drill piercing your skin and hitting bone. I can't stop them, they just keep going until everything falls quiet and- ” She shivers, and he can see the unmistakable glint of the moonlight reflecting in tears.

“Hey,” he murmurs, the sight of her distress motivating him to push through his initial surprise at her reveal in favour of comforting her. “It's okay, you're okay.”

He reaches out for her but before his hand lands on her shoulder – where he was aiming – she shuffles closer to him until she’s pressed up against his side, head resting on his shoulder. This level of intimacy is something new, something they have been tentatively developing over the past couple of weeks, but to Marcus, nothing has felt more natural than having Abby Griffin in his arms. Perhaps it should scare him – how easy this all feels – and sometimes it does, but not when she is in his arms, no, never then.

“It's okay, you're okay. It's over, nothing is gonna happen. I'm okay, it’s over,” he repeats into her hair as he holds her.

“I can’t lose you,” Abby whispers, her voice heavy with emotion.

“You won’t. You won’t, I promise.” Without paying any mind to what he’s doing he turns his head and presses a kiss to her hair, but it just feels _right_. “I’m right here.”

She pulls back and for a second, he’s afraid he’s crossed a line. Her eyes are big and confused but he sees no anger in their dark depths.

“You always are,” she tilts her head slightly, “Why?”

He has no answer to that question, or rather, he has the answer, but it is not the time for those three words now. Maybe it never will be.

“Don't think I haven't noticed that you haven't slept a single night in your own bed since we returned from Mt. Weather. The couch in my room can’t possibly be _that_ comfortable.” Her tone changes to a lighter one when he doesn’t answer, and he figures he _does_ owe her an explanation of some kind for his recent change in behaviour.

“I... I wanted to make sure you were alright,” is the reply he settles for and in the end, that statement is just as true.

“Thank you.” Her lips curve in a hesitant smile. “You know, if anyone had told me three months ago that I'd be sitting here, on Earth, with Marcus Kane by my side I would've had them sent straight to the psych ward,” she comments with a light laugh and he can’t help but respond with a soft chuckle of his own.

“Our lives did take some unexpected turns recently, didn’t they?”

“They did.” There’s a quiet sense of fondness in her voice that captures his attention and he turns his head to find her looking at him intently. “And I’m glad,” she finishes, her eyes carrying an emotion he can’t name.

“Me too.” He holds her gaze and the world shrinks down until he sees nothing but the pale moonlight dancing in her darkened eyes. He’s not sure what this is, doesn’t dare hope that what he sees in her eyes is affection, but as always, Abby Griffin will not let his hope falter. She leans forward, slowly, but it still takes him by surprise when he feels her soft lips brush his own.

It's tentative at first and it takes him longer than it should have to respond to the action, but once his mind catches up to the realisation that this is real, this is happening, all inhibitions dissipate. His hand settles at the nape of her neck tilting her head as the kiss turns more passionate; his mind is no longer asking questions, in this moment there is no room for doubt, just her and _this_.

Eventually, they break apart but just for a second. Her eyes are shining with a shy kind of wonder that he is sure is mirrored in his own gaze and the tremble her breath as she sucks in air tells him that she’s, remarkably, as affected by this as he. An involuntary smile of pure joy and astonishment blossoms on his face.

“Abby, I…” He trails off, any ability to form a coherent sentence that he might have possessed gone the moment their lips met.

“I think we’ve waited long enough,” she whispers before she once again captures his lips with her own. It’s all soft lips and rough beard and that sweet, sweet taste of her, no longer any trace of previous hesitations, just the movement of her mouth against his, while tongues explore this newfound source of life.

Could it really be? Could she want this as much as he did? Could she want him as much as he wanted her? Questions ricochet around his brain, questions he’s been afraid to ask himself in fear that the answer might break his heart. But now, with Abby in his arms, the answers to those questions awaken an anticipatory flutter in his stomach that sends shivers down his spine and make goosebumps pebble his skin. The final fragment of doubt disappears from his mind. He finally let’s go and leans fully into the extraordinary experience it is to kiss Abigail Griffin.

She doesn’t just kiss him with her lips, this is a dance of bodies intertwining; a leg lifts to find purchase on the other side of his lap, a hand finds it’s way to her hips, and fingers bury themselves in soft locks of hair. Her whole body is moving against his, fighting to break down any barrier of distance or clothing that is separating them.

His fingers find their way to the small sliver of skin between her shirt and her pants and they both release a stunned gasp of pure relief at the skin-on-skin contact. His touch is hot against her back, leaving heated trails in its wake as it runs over her skin in hungry exploration.

“ _God_ , Marcus,” she moans against his open mouth, and the sound of her low, almost out-of-breath voice sends sizzling spikes of pleasure straight to his groin. She must know the effect she’s having on him by now, he can’t possibly be expected to react in any other way when he’s got Abby Griffin straddling his lap and pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to his skin. Then, as if she had read his mind, her hips roll against his, grinding against his growing erection and letting him know she knows exactly what she’s doing to him. He buries his head in the crook of her neck with a low groan.

On her skin he tastes traces of smoke from the fireplace mixed with a tinge of salt. His tongue swivels over her followed by a light graze of his teeth and it elicits the most delicious sounds from her. A deep, smoky rumble that he feels as it makes its way from her chest and to her throat followed by a series of tiny gasps. She’s coming undone beneath his lips and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever witnessed.

Her hands are in his hair again, dragging his attention back to her mouth. She pulls back with a wicked glint in her eyes that he can’t quite interpret.

 “Let’s go for a swim,” she says, the corners of her mouth twisting into a mischievous grin as she leans in again to press a kiss just below his ear. The action sends a shiver down his spine and straight to his core. His breath hitches and she hums against his skin in response. Another groan escapes him when her mouth moves lower, hot against his pulse point and he figures a swim in the cool sea might be a good idea before his desire for her becomes even more obvious.

He draws back slightly and in one swift motion his shirt is pulled over his head and disposed on the sand. His confirming gesture is met with a wide smile and after that it’s all clumsy tugging and airy laughs until their clothes are removed with reckless abandon and they’re standing in the middle of the quiet night, on an empty beach, laughing in their underwear.

He is seized by an overwhelming urge to take her in his arms again, this time rid of the restricting barriers of clothing, but before he can draw her in she bolts for the sea, stumbling into the waves with an adorable _yelp_.

An affectionate laugh slips from between his lips only to be overtaken by concern when she doesn’t resurface immediately. With a few long strides he’s at the edge of the water but before his feet touch the coolness of the sea a _splash_ of saltwater hits his skin as Abby leaps out of the water.

“C’mon Marcus! The water is _heavenly_ ,” Abby beckons as she steps back, and the water settles around her waist.

The sight of her like that take his breath away and he swears his heart stops for a fraction of a second. Her small frame is lit up by the low-hanging moon; pale blue rays of light refracting in the droplets of water that’s covering her skin and making her look like an ancient Goddess of the sea. And he gets to have this. That fact is so far beyond what he could have ever dared to hope for, but here she is, smiling, and laughing, and _beautiful_ , and gesturing for him to join her with a wave of her hand. How could he ever deny her anything?

He joins her in the water with only a brief hiss when the water envelops his lower body. That earns him a giggle and he decides that he didn’t care if the water had been freezing he would still have gone in if it meant hearing her make a sound so carefree again.

As soon as he’s within her reach she wraps her arms and legs around him, hugging him close. Her embrace feels like liquid heat enveloping him and effectively keeping the cool of the water at bay. She presses a gentle kiss to his lips, it’s languid and patient without the frantic urgency they had before, but no less sensual. He tastes the cold saltwater on her lips contrasted intensely with the sweet taste of _her_ that fills his senses when her mouth falls open and their tongues meet again.

The kiss is brief, she leans back, resting her forehead against his and for a moment they breathe the same air. Then, as if on cue, they turn their heads out towards the horizon and silence settles around them as both of their minds drift far, far away; to the past, to a time when the moon was bigger, no, _closer_ and they were racing it in what seemed like an endless orbit around  the planet which’s gravity was tethering them both to this specific place in the ever-expanding universe. And maybe, tentatively, their minds drift to the future as well, if they dare to dream of days to come, of nights like these where there’s nothing but calm. No smoke rising in the horizon, no war drums composing a foreboding soundtrack, but just the drum of their heart beats as they, beating as one, remind them that _they made it._

She’s feather-light in his embrace, the sea carrying her weight as their bodies fluidly follow the ebb and flow of the gentle waves.

“Marcus?” she asks hesitantly, making him drag his eyes away from the serene image in front of him. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

The statement is weighted by an honesty that can only be created in quiet moments like the one they just shared. He knows that behind those words lie a deeper meaning that extends past the events of today. Exactly how much of their time together is encompassed by her statement he doesn’t know, but he knows in his heart that no matter how much of their past she’s alluding to, she won’t ever have to struggle with anything on her own in their future – _their_ future, together.

“You don’t have to, you’ll never have to.”

She disentangles herself from him, slowly sliding down until her feet touch the soft seabed. One hand finds its place right above his heart, the other settling at the nape of his neck, toying with a few wet strands of hair before she pulls him down into a delicate, tender kiss. It’s the kind of kiss that makes your heart flutter in your chest and your head feel light, the kind where you can’t help but reach out to gently run your hand across the increasingly familiar contours and edges of her face because anything more forceful would break the fragility of the kiss. It’s the kind of kiss that doesn’t just speak of lust or passion but of intimacy and promises of a future, of _time_. It’s those three words translated into action because they’re still not ready to be spoken.

They break apart; their darkening gazes locked on each other, lips curved into elated smiles of their own accord. The next words that leave her lips will cement themselves in his memory, just like this kiss. They will make his heart beat so fast it nearly escapes from his chest, they will send spikes of heat and electricity racing through his veins. He will remember her voice, low and filled with desire, and he will remember her words:

“Take me to bed, Marcus Kane.”

And just like he will remember those words, he will, in return, forget anything that happened between the last syllable leaving her lips and the moment he finds himself, once again, in that fur-covered bed with Abby Griffin, but this time with nothing holding them back.

He won’t remember how they stumbled out of the water and across the beach, trying to pick up their previously discarded clothes so they wouldn’t leave any evidence for the guards to find in the morning. He won’t remember how he caught her when she slipped as they struggled to brush the sand off their feet. He won’t remember how they tugged and pulled at their wet underwear until it finally, _finally_ , stop clinging to their bodies. He will only remember how her naked body fit against his as she wrapped her limbs around him and he lay her down on the soft covers of their bed.

He will only remember _this._

Her breath is hot against his skin. Her hands clutch at his shoulders. Her hips grind against his in frantic attempts to increase contact.

He groans.

Her hand drifts down his body, the heat of her touch tracing the taut muscles of his chest, his stomach, until she has him, hot, heavy, and impossibly hard in her small grasp. She the head of his cock with the pad of her thumb and every cell of his body is set on fire. His heart is beating faster with each stroke of her hand and fingers while his mind slows down to the point where the only thing occupying it is her: Her dark, lust-filled eyes that hold his gaze so intensely, breaking down any wall he might have built around his heart with such elegant ease, her voice as she breathlessly says his name over and over again in a plea for him to close the final distance, cross that final line between them so they can become one.

_I think we’ve waited long enough._ Her words echo inside his mind and she’s right, of course she’s right. They have waited long enough.

He slides into her with the ghost of her name on his lips and his eyes focused on hers. It’s so visible, the moment he’s buried in her warmth and they are finally joined; her facial expression mirrors his as their eyes widen, and they breathe out in unison – a breath of relief that’s been pent-up within them.

Then begins the dance. Improvised, unchoreographed, intuitive. Emotions and senses taking the reins, guiding their bodies in rhythmic undulating movements. One hand finds her thigh; lifting it, supporting her, perfecting the angle. Another hand lands on his back; nails digging into skin, fingers running soothingly along muscle as it contracts and releases. The air fills with heavy breaths, and gaps, and moans. He pulls out only to slide back into place with ease. He kisses her hungry lips before moving lower, pressing kisses behind her ear, to her pulse point, to her shoulder.

His fingers trail the hardened peaks of her nipples. The skin pebbles beneath his touch and he pinches it lightly. A gasp falls from her lips but morphs into a moan the moment his fingers are replaced by the wet-hot sensation of his tongue against her breast. She arches her back, chasing the maddening sensation. The angle changes.

“Oh God, Marcus. Yes, right there.”

Her walls clench around him, her words stoking the fire which is already burning beneath his skin. He increases his pace as tension begins to build at the base of his spine.

“Right there, baby.”

And suddenly one hand is on his ass and the other buried in his hair as she presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to his jaw then his neck then to his mouth, relishing his taste and the way it mingles with her own. He groans, a low, animalistic rumble that starts deep in his chest then builds until it can no longer be contained. The sounds of his pleasure only seem to encourage her further. She locks her legs around his back and her hips surge up to meet his now-frantic thrusts.  She’s so close and yet, he only wants her impossibly closer.

“ _Abby_.” Her name leaves his lips on a breath of pure gratitude; somehow their lives had been intertwined, leading them here, to this moment. Somehow, they had been granted a second chance;  her: a second chance at love, and him: a second chance at life – a chance to be better, to be more than the man he used to be.

He reaches out his hand to trail through a damp lock of her hair – a gentle contrast to their erratic movements – and runs a finger along her cheekbone, coaxing her eyes to open. As their gazes lock once again, his other hand travels south. Deft fingers slip between their sweat-sheened bodies, parting her folds and finding that small, throbbing bundle of nerves at her centre.

“Come for me, Abby,” he whispers into her ear, “Come for me.”

His fingers circle her clit as his thrusts become deeper and soon he feels as pleasure builds within her; breath coming out in small staccato gasps, walls clenching around his length, and legs tightening their grip around him. Two more thrusts and she topples over the edge, his name falling from her lips in a near-scream as her orgasm surges through her body.

He’s right behind her.

The sound of his name spoken through her lust-filled haze sends him over the edge. He bursts inside her as electrical impulses carrying nothing but the purest kind of pleasure flashes through his body, setting every nerve ending alight. It has never felt like this before; never so intense, never so all-consuming, never so beautiful, and perfect, and right. Her name is on his lips, in his ears, the only thing on his mind, as he comes and comes in the most intense experience of pleasure he has ever had. Sweaty limbs clutch to each other, he struggles to keep himself hovering above her, but it proves impossible as the waves of his orgasm lessen and fade. As her rolls over she follows, her arm still wrapped around him, not letting the world rob them of this closeness yet.

They are breathless, content, and spent as they lie in each other’s arms. Finding comfort in their post-coital bliss, a comfort they had both thought they had lost forever or never find, but they have. _Together_.

Afterwards, as she falls asleep in his arms he can’t help but give voice to the three words which are running through his mind. He whispers them into her hair, because he has to, because he never thought he would have the right to speak those words, not to anyone. And he whispers them because even though their relationship, _this_ relationship, is brand new, that statement has been true for a very long time.

_“I love you.”_


End file.
